


no basis for a system of government

by ignitesthestars



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Royalty, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-06-03 13:10:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6611836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignitesthestars/pseuds/ignitesthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An absolute monarchy as a system of government has its flaws. While Annabeth absolutely believes that she’s the best person suited for the job of running her own country, she’s willing to admit that she had an insane amount of advantages to help her along the way.</p><p>She did <i>not</i> wade her way into the <i>sea</i> and stumble upon a long lost <i>sword</i> that apparently declared her <i>worthy</i> of ruling.</p><p>What kind of name is Percy Jackson for a king, anyway?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Annabeth isn’t expecting much.

She doesn’t think she can be blamed for that, either. Of course, an absolute monarchy as a system of government has its own flaws, and while she absolutely believes that she’s the best person suited for the job of running her own country, she’s willing to admit that she had an insane amount of advantages to help her along the way.

She did _not_ wade her way into the _sea_ and stumble upon a long lost _sword_ that apparently declared her _worthy_ of ruling.

What kind of name is Percy Jackson for a king, anyway? The official documents all say Perseus, which is a little better, but Annabeth’s spies have reliably informed her that he makes everyone around him call him Percy.

Annabeth isn’t one to stand on ceremony, but she’s pretty sure she’d declare war on anyone trying to call her ‘Annie’.

What she isn’t willing to do is start making trouble with a neighbouring kingdom that has only recently _stopped_ being a thorn in her side. Say what you will about marine weaponry being a deciding factor in choosing a king, at least the country has a ruler now. Anarchy might be fun for those making the most of it, but it makes even a queen with as substantial a military as Annabeth nervous.

So she hosts a summit. Ostensibly to encourage peace and trade amongst the surrounding kingdoms, it’s really a chance for everyone to take the measure of this new ruler who has appeared out of nowhere.

Which is why it’s more than a little annoying that he’s late. She hadn’t been expecting much, but–

“Sorry!” The double doors sort of crash open, a youngish (more than just attractive-ish) man standing in the gap left. Annabeth wonders for a moment if he knows he’s at the end of two pikes wielded by the guards, before she notices the too-casual slide of sea-green eyes over his shoulder, the twitch of a hand towards the hilt of his sword. 

She sits up a little straighter.

“There was a water dragon issue,” the man explains. “I tried explaining I had a - uh, summit - to get to, but I guess water dragons aren’t big on scheduling.”

His dark hair is a mess in a way she’d call rakish, if it was on one of her courtiers. It seems to also be water dragon related on this man, though - the ends are still dripping, and he doesn’t hesitate to shove a hand through it to get it out of his eyes, dislodging a simple gold circlet as he does so.

He doesn’t do anything to fix it. Having announced the reason for his lateness, the newly minted King Percy (because who else could it be?) just sort of stands there. It seems awkward, at first, but a beat passes and she begins to realise that he genuinely doesn’t care.

“Arrogance,” one of the ambassadors snorts, but Annabeth doesn’t think so. She steeples her fingers, resting her chin gently on the tips as she inspects him. His jaw clenches. He stands still, but there seems to be a fine vibration running through his form, as though the very act of remaining stationary is an effort to him.

Annabeth finds she can relate.

“Whose waters?” she calls across the room, not taking her gaze off him. He meets it directly, and she thinks this man knew exactly how impossible it would be to impress anyone in this room, let alone all of them. Why waste effort and dignity trying to convince people who didn’t want to be convinced that you were worth their time?

“Yours.” The hint of a grin tugs at his mouth, but he ducks his head to hide it. “You’re welcome, your majesty.”

Annabeth snorts. “I’ll see how impressive the corpse is before I thank you, your majesty, but I appreciate the effort.” She gestures to the empty her left. “Please, take a seat. Guards–” She motions to dismiss them, notes the way his broad shoulders unknot as the pikes lower, even though he hasn’t looked at them once.

The grin is definitely there, blazing behind those bright eyes even as he struggles to keep it from his mouth. He shrugs, before heading for her offered seat. “I didn’t kill it.”

Annabeth raises an eyebrow.

“I rode it here. It likes your moat.”

And that was how King Percy caused his first international incident on his first day outside his own borders. _No wonder_ , Annabeth thinks later as she watches the water dragon splash in her castle’s defences, _his people love him so much._

Idly, she wonders if that sword came with a fated spouse in the mix. Purely for political reasons, of course.


	2. Chapter 2

Annabeth is not supposed to _like_  His Royal Majesty, King Percy (and oh gods, he’s even got her using that nickname now). Not the least because he put a water dragon in her moat.

It’s fine - it’s _advantageous_  - to get along with him. It’s politically sensible to arrange meetings to discuss trade routes and infrastructure between their two countries. It’s logical, given their close proximity, that they should present a united front against the increasingly menacing spectre of the Tartarian Empire to the south.

Liking him? That’s not supposed to be on the cards. There aren’t supposed to be any cards. Why is she playing poker with him.

“You look like you’re about to flip the table,” she informs him over her hand. They’re closeted in her private study, the fire burning down low in the grate. Servants must have slipped in to light the candles at some point, but Annabeth hadn’t noticed. “You really need to work on keeping a straight face.”

“Right,” he snorts. “Because you’re so good at it, Miss ‘I glared at an ambassador so hard he stopped mid-sentence and ran away’.”

“That was strategy,” she sniffed. “King Zeus is an unmitigated misogynists, and the people he sends to do his dirty work aren’t much better. If he wants to sweet talk me into sending mages to help bolster the wards on his border with Tartarus, he needs to give me a man who can handle a little ‘womanly hysteria’.”

Percy chokes, just about dropped his hand. Annabeth doesn’t hesitate to take a glance at the hand he reveals, confirming her initial statement. Terrible poker face, to match a terrible hand. She’s not entirely sure he knows the rules. “Did he actually say that?”

“I have a four page official communication of him talking his way around spelling it out. If he’d put that energy into restructuring his education system, he wouldn’t be having the mage issues he is right now.”

The man makes a face. “There’s something I never thought would sound interesting to me.”

She raises her eyebrows back at him, carefully laying her cards face down on the desk as she leans in a little. “You didn’t stop to consider the minutiae of kingship before you pulled the sword out of the water?”

“I didn’t stop to consider _anything_.” A scowl flickers across his face, although it doesn’t really seem directed at her. Annabeth feels like scowling herself, realising that she doesn’t _want_  him to be looking at her that way, but her poker face is better. She waits for him to finish. “My thought process was more along the lines of ‘oh shit, giant minotaur attacking me and my mom, is that a weapon?”

She knows the story, insofar as anyone else knows that story. Even her excellent spies hadn’t been able to nut out the truth of it, likely because Percy hadn’t been all that eager to spread the tale. At first, she had assumed it was a shrewd political move - a story like that would spread organically anyway, and he’d come off looking better if he didn’t push it. 

After getting to know him better over the course of the summit, Annabeth thinks that politics probably hadn’t been a glimmer of a thought in his head. Not that Percy is stupid, by any means. He has a way of attacking problems that suits hers nicely. He sees things she doesn’t, can make a direct assault seem feasible when she would have taken a subtler, more complicated action

Reluctantly, she has to admit that means that she doesn’t know _everything_. So long as she doesn’t say it out loud, she thinks she’ll be okay.

“You didn’t know what it was?” she asks lightly, like she isn’t burning up with curiosity.

“Not till after. I mean, everyone grows up knowing about Riptide. Grew up, I guess.” He glances at the table leg, where the sword is innocently leaning. “At the time, I just wanted to save her.”

“Well.” Annabeth leans over, plucks his cards neatly from his hand. She focusses very carefully on shuffling them as she speaks. “If it’s any consolation, I think the sword - or the water, or whatever it was - made a good choice.”

“Really?” 

Gods, that really is a terrible poker face. He rubs the back of his neck, looking somehow pleased and embarrassed at once. “I mean - thanks. Your majesty.”

it’s her turn to snort. “If you’re making me call you Percy, you’re definitely calling me Annabeth. Save the majesties for the negotiating table.”

The embarrassment gives way in the wake of a grin, and she tells herself very firmly that her heart doesn’t skip a beat. “Whatever you say, Annabeth.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

“Uh huh. You know what I’d like to hear?”

“I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

“Yeah, why you stole my cards.”

She rolls her eyes, dealing them out again. “No one deserves to lose that badly, Jackson. How do you feel about Go Fish?”


	3. Chapter 3

He hasn’t written.

It shouldn’t bother Annabeth. It’s not like he wrote before the summit. Oh, there had been official dispatches – and there are still official dispatches now. But – well.

She had thought their friendship, at least, deserved some personal consideration. Not that anything is ever truly personal for a monarch, but she can think of at least three separate ways to get a message to him with only one other person knowing it had happened, and he’s not an uncreative person.

“I can poison him for you,” Piper offers cheerfully one afternoon, back from assignment. “Not seriously, obviously, I know you like him. But enough to keep him stuck in the privy for a bit.”

It is, to be quite honest, tempting. But not especially regal. Annabeth makes a face. “No, the political ramifications aren’t worth it if it came to light.”

Piper protests at the insult to her spy talents, and Annabeth is forced to admit that maybe – _maybe­_ – she doesn’t actually want to give the King of Atlantia the runs.

“So, what you’re saying,” Piper says, slowly, “is that you like him.”

“I’m saying it we’re in a delicate position with Olympus right now, and distracting the ruler of our nearest ally is a terrible idea. Speaking of. How’s _Jason_?”

Piper coughs, staring up at the ceiling. “ _Prince_ Jason is fine. And personally involved with the general of his armies, currently, so I wouldn’t expect a marriage proposal until he starts getting on with his father better.”

“Ugh.” Annabeth sits back in her chair, trying not to think too hard about how Percy – _King Perseus_ – had sat in the exact place Piper currently occupies, not three weeks ago. “I don’t care how nice he is, I wouldn’t marry a son of Zeus if you offered me the entire kingdom of Olympus on a platter.”

Is it her imagination, or do Piper’s shoulders slump in relief a little? She had only been teasing, but she files the reaction away for later. Piper, though not exactly legitimate and not interested in titles, can be gifted with any number of fancy names if it eases the path to her happiness. It’s not exactly fair and measured of Annabeth, but even queens who are coming to be known as the Just aren’t above bending the rules for friends.

Piper leans over and spears a piece of fruit from the untouched platter in front of Annabeth. “And that, your majesty, is why you’re a queen and not a despot.”

“I would make a great despot.”

“Hey, I’m not arguing. But let’s not find out. You know what I can find out?”

“Piper, no.”

“Why your boy isn’t writing you back.”

“He’s not – _Piper_.” Annabeth is not blushing. Queens don’t blush. “No. There are a million other things I can put your skills towards.”

“And a bunch of those things are in Atlantia, soooooooo…”

“You’re a terrible subject.”

“But a _great_ spy.” Her countenance softens, the wickedness easing out. “And a better friend. I know you killed yourself over writing those letters by hand, Annabeth.”

“He doesn’t know that.”

“He will by the time I’m done with him.”

She manages to eke out a promise from the other girl that she won’t actually confront Percy – _King Perseus_ – about his lack of communication. But there’s no denying that, when Piper leaves, she’s in a slightly better mood. She trusts her friend as much as a queen can trust anyone, and as much as she tells herself she doesn’t care about the lack of personal communication from Percy-

She does. She really, really does. It’s rare that a monarch gets the opportunity to actually be friends with someone, and Annabeth is more cautious than most. Especially after the Luke debacle. After the month long summit (in which nothing much had been accomplished, hence the month-long timetable, thanks to Zeus’ intractability via his ambassador), Percy had left her with the impression that they had forged something like a friendship.

Annabeth sighs, picking up the pile of dispatches one of her aides had brought her that afternoon. Piper had shown up to report on situation in Olympus – shaky, but holding steady against the might of Tartarus – before she’d had the chance to look through them. A seal catches her eye and her breath, the silhouette of a waterhorse curled around a trident. She sets it down for a moment, takes a deep breath, before slicing through the wax.

It’s a struggle to force the letters to make sense, as per usual, but she manages to read it through. And then she reads it through again, because she must have gotten it wrong the first time.

_The House of Poseidon is pleased to announce the engagement of His Majesty Perseus the First, by the will of magic, the King of Atlantia and of His other realms and territories, to Lady Rachel Elizabeth, of the House of Dare._

There’s more – there always is on these things. Annabeth remembers that air is a necessity, and slowly breathes out, setting the parchment down in front of her. She hadn’t planned on fencing today, but right now seems like the _perfect_ time to practice cutting things to pieces.

What kind of a name is Dare, anyway?


End file.
